


The Unworthy

by MariaChester



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Once Upon a Time (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Multiple Crossovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2018-08-07 13:37:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7716766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaChester/pseuds/MariaChester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would have happened if Mjölnir hadn't fallen to Midgard but instead found its way to the Enchanted Forest and into the hands of a certain Spinner? </p><p>Rumplestiltskin and Loki go on a journey to change their destinies and discover the strength they never knew they had. A tale of courage and redemption.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_“Since it is so likely that children will meet cruel enemies, let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage. Otherwise you are making their destiny not brighter but darker.”_

― C.S. Lewis

* * *

 

Silence reigned in the Gate Room, as the last echoing cry of Thunder's Master faded from the chamber. The light from Bifrost flickered and then died as the portal closed leaving those who remained cloaked in a shadowy twilight. The brightness of the swirling stars and galaxies glanced off Nordic runes and symbols, and as the light danced across polished metal bracers and breastplates they glowed like the Heart of the Bifrost.

An eternity passed.

The planets kept to their course, the sun still shone, and the stars burned brightly against the icy void, illumining the darkest of darkness. . . but the world of Odin All-Father and Loki, brother of Thor would never be the same. The great hammer sparked at Odin's fingertips, tendrils of electricity crackling as it sought the hand which borne it for centuries, before it calmed in the All-father's familiar grasp.

Millennia had passed, hair the color of an oaken shield turning gray with the steady pull of nature, deep lines and wrinkles replacing a fresh, ruddy countenance, but Mjölnir still recognized the man who had been the young warrior, Odin son of Borr, now ruler of Asgard.

Anger which had fueled the Odin moments ago bled away, leaving only sorrow and disappointment in it's stead.

As the sun began to dip over the edge of the horizon, the citizens of Asgard gathered their sons and daughters for the evening meal.

In the feasting hall, a chair sat ready for Asgard's Golden Son.

It would remain empty for some time . . .

Meanwhile, an unseen battle was being fought in the heart and mind of Asgard's ruler as his thoughts stormed and raged relentlessly. . .

Logic and Reason waged war with his Heart. . . the victor remained to be seen.

He had done what was necessary, Reason told him.

For Asgard. . .

For the Nine Realms. . .

And for Thor.

 _Thor_ . . . his Heart breathed.

His breastbone pained him and something beneath it cracked, threatening to split in two.

His brow furrowed, and a strand of silver-white hair fell from its place as the breeze caressed his weathered face.

Yes, Odin had done what he must, but he would not leave his firstborn without hope.

A father's love would triumph every time.

It was not the ruler of Asgard who turned toward the Bifrost, but the All-Father and never before had the name fit him so well. At his command the gate's controls activated.

It's been said that "all our souls are written in our eyes". When Loki's green met the blue well of Odin's single eye . . . what he saw made him still, a deep crease marring the line of his pale brow.

Odin drew himself up to the Stargate with quick, even steps, his cape whispering against the marble floor.

“ _ **Whosoever holds this hammer**_ ” he whispered, “ ** _If he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor_**.”

Breathing a prayer for his son's uncertain fate, Odin drew back his arm, and with all his strength hurled Mjölnir into the swirling vortex. He turned from the Bifrost his head bowed low.

At the entrance of the Gate Room, he paused and rested his hand on one of the great, marble pillars that supported the entrance. His gaze turned toward the golden city of Asgard the deep lines of his face prominent in the light of the setting sun.

He could feel the Sleep approaching, and soon- too soon, the hounds of war would come clawing at their gates.

His weary eye closed for an instant and in that moment, he did not see that the Bifrost flickered strangely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone notice the "all our souls are written in our eyes" line? My inner theater nerd couldn't resist slipping in that line from Cyrano de Bergerac.


	2. The Dark One

 

 _**"Evil often triumphs, but never conquers."**  _ _**-Joseph Roux**_  

* * *

 

 Jagged white lightning shattered the twilight gloom, thunderous bolts dividing the night and laying bare its secrets. For a heartbeat, there was only silence . . .

 A loud boom rolled across the lands as clouds billowed in from the far west, pouring over the craggy peaks of the mountains that surrounded the valley. The world beneath was bleached white as lightning splintered and raced across the night, wicked fingers reaching across the sky deadly as rapidly spreading cracks on the surface of a frozen pond.

 Wind and rain battled like the titans of old, smashing into the stone mountains below as the earth shook with the deadly accuracy of Zeus' unleashed fury.

 Towering mountain pines were felled in the heaven's onslaught, ancient guardians who had kept watch over the valley for untold centuries rent in pieces. Blue fire scorched the wood like dragon's breath, smoke curling around the fallen giants.

This was no ordinary storm.

 Nothing like it had ever been recorded in all the histories of the realm's kingdoms, nor in the ballads sung by the traveling minstrels. Not even in the stories told by the chiseled sailors who had traveled to the far edges of the world.

The trees thrashed and flailed their branches wildly as the force of the winds threatened to uproot them.

And the clouds . . . the clouds were tinged an unnatural green.

  
The inhabitants of the land had long since sought refuge from the storm. 

 For the watchful elders of the kingdom, those crowned silver by wisdom's kiss had spent their long days marking the times and seasons of the earth. As the creaking in their joints grew painful and the mournful bleating of the pastured flocks reached their ears, they had quickly ushered their families into snug homes.

 Barring the doors with sturdy oaken beams and shuttering each window tightly, they drew close together before the fire in their hearths.

 Grannies, whose fingers never stilled worked magic with needle and yarn as they crafted splendidly wonderous scarves and mittens in every color of the rainbow to keep their families safe and warm through the harshest of winters.

 Grandfathers spun wild, unbelievable tales of all the mischief they had caused in their boyhood, while their daughters looked on in bemused exasperation as the children were corrupted with tales of youthful hijinks and misadventures.

 Mothers suckled their newborns and braided hair, mended dolls and baked tasty treats, cleaned cuts and kissed bruises away. For even the most powerful sorcerer knows that there is no more powerful healing magic than a mother's kiss (even if they are loathe to admit it).

Young papas tossed their children in the air as they screamed with delight and then caught them and held them tight.

 Warmed by the love they held in their hearts for one another even more than the dancing flames in their hearth, each family complete and whole rejoiced because their loved ones were near and safe from harm . . . 

**_Save for one_.**

 Far from any other dwellings, in a copse of gnarled, twisting trees ancient beyond reckoning. . .

A creature formed of darkness and shadow was seated. . .

before a _spinning wheel_.

 The devouring western winds were relentless in their assault as they snatched greedily at the shadowy sprite's hair and clothes, yet he paid it no heed.

 Lost to his work, the Master of Spinners remained deaf and blind to the whirling tempest shrieking at the gate of his ear, his eyes unseeing of Olympus' wrath as the Titans raged an unending battle in the celestial theater. Turning the wheel with practiced ease quick, nimble fingers entwined themselves in sparkling thread that glimmered like a king's ransom with remarkable dexterity as he pulled the gold from it's wooden sheath.

 Several pieces of coarse straw fell to the earth unnoticed as he deftly urged their kin through the flier opening, his movements quick as the lightning that flashed around him.

 And though the storm raged, and the winds howled mightily, and the lightening struck in rapid succession scarcely an arms length from where he perched, and though the scent of scorched ozone stung his nostrils, not a drop touched so much as tippy tip of his alligator skin boots as heaven's tears yielded to him.  
  
 The treacherous imp known to all the lands as The Dark One, who had once been the man Rumplestiltskin stilled the Great Wheel. The shimmering cord was severed and vanished with a wave of his hand, the fading remnants of a swirling red mist the only evidence its presence.

The gold didn't interest him.

 Shaking the straw from his dark leather breeches he stretched out his back and shoulders, muscle memory belaying any true need. Dragonhide clung to his form like a second skin and a jacket of thick brockade and leather armored him against the harshest of elements . . . and the delicious hatred that followed the devilkin in wake of foolish deals.

The plain wooden stool, wellworn and smooth from many years of use was abandoned as the imp rose from his place.

Errant curls framed his sharp features and crooked nose, their color an unremarkable sandy brown, while eyes that burned like coals freshly plucked from the fire gazed into the night, amber glow betraying the power within.

 A flash of lightening painted the wooded clearing in monocrome, the momentary brighteness catching at the gold flecked scales of the Dark One's skin before the world was once again plunged into darkness.

The spinning wheel disappeared as well, it's duty unfulfilled as the sorcerer's mind remained as troubled as before.

Heaviness had settled around his heart like a stone . . . and he worried.

For Rumplestiltskin was cursed.

 

* * *

 

**_Interlude_ **

  _Once upon a time Rumplestiltskin had been a simple village spinner, and if not content with his situation he was at least resigned to his lot in life, the fledgling spark of youthful ambition having been snuffed out many years before._

_Arising each day before the first hesitant rays of morning's light kissed the pale horizon he worked tirelessly at his trade, never ceasing until long after eventide had cast its shadowy cloak over the sleepy hamlet._

_The spinner Rumplestiltskin was gifted with a measure of talent never before seen among any of the craftsmen of the realm. From his youth, he had been graced with "the Touch" surpassing even the masters his craft in the quality of his spinning and demand for his goods._

_Had the world been kind, Rumple would have spun for royalty, his name sung upon the lips of every merchant and tradesman worth his salt and his wares highly sought among the dealers of fine goods._

_Yet for all his great talent the man barely survived on his meager earnings, receiving only a fraction of his labor's worth._

_The only survivor of a hopeless battle, the crippled spinner was despised by his peers and shunned as the village coward, the "man who ran" while their loved ones had fallen in the First Great Ogre War._

_Rumplestiltskin had only one bright spot in his life. His beloved son Baelfire._

_With warm brown eyes so like Rumple's own and dark hair glossy as a raven in flight, he was the apple of his father's eye. Inquisitive, brave and clever, yet above all possessing a kind and gentle spirit, Baelfire, or Bae as he was called, was everything a man could ever want in a son._

_So though his neighbors scoffed and abused him and he toiled from dawn to dusk to put food on their table and clothes on their backs- to Rumplestiltskin it didn't matter one whit . . . so long as he had his boy._

 

_The Ogre Wars began anew._

_Children were torn from their mother's arms and drafted into the Duke's armies to serve as cannon fodder, their blood spilled on the field of battle needlessly, for unknown to the people of the Frontlands their Duke possessed the power to end the war once and for all._

_The Duke, you see had a secret, for in his possession was an ancient dagger, an object of great magical properties through which the Dark One and all his power could be controlled._

_But in his insatiable bloodlust he courted favor with Hades, the innocent blood of children a sacrifice to the god of the Underworld so that even in the afterlife the Duke might have Death's blessing._

_Like Ares*, he welcomed the overwhelming, destructive power of War._

_When the time had come for his boy to be taken from him Rumplestiltskin had acted, his supposed salvation a beggar's whispered tale of a talisman to which the Dark One's power was bound . . ._

**"Take the Dagger and you control the Dark One.**  
**Kill him with it and you take his power for your own."**

_In a plan that was two parts fool and one part reckless abandon, Rumplestiltskin had stolen the Dagger from the Duke's castle and used the ancient relic to protect his son. Banishing the Ogres from the Frontlands forever, he had led all the children soldiers home safe and sound to their parents waiting arms. . ._

* * *

But you see every artifact has a downside . . .  
And all **Magic** comes with a _price._

In taking the Dagger's power for his own he had been able to protect his child, but the cost was far greater than he could have imagined.

This was the day the spinner had lost his freedom, becoming both the Master and Slave of the darkest of magic in the realm . . .

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Ares is the Greek god of war. According to Wikipedia "The Greeks were ambivalent toward Ares: although he embodied the physical valor necessary for success in war, he was a dangerous force, 'overwhelming, insatiable in battle, destructive, and man-slaughtering.'"
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ares


End file.
